


Snows III: Beasts

by Teland



Series: Snows [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Ending, I guess???, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-12
Updated: 1999-01-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Mulder goes for a run.





	Snows III: Beasts

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to ciceqi and Nonie for beta!

The snowplow had been sitting outside Mulder's   
apartment building for at least half an hour.

The deep growl of the engine was tolerable, almost   
soothing. The slow, relentless "beep... beep... beep" was   
not. The warning lights flashing across his ceiling   
brought back uncomfortable memories of certain clubs  
he'd frequented back in London. 

It was five-fourteen a.m., and Mulder was up for the   
day.

He stayed on the couch for another ten minutes,   
though. The memories might have been slightly   
uncomfortable, but they suited the pre-dawn darkness   
perfectly. Mulder had always been able to appreciate   
the confusion of winter, the way the sky provided no real  
cues for gauging the time. 

There was a certain beauty to the ambiguity, a sense that,  
despite the world's schedules, time really *was* an   
illusion the vast majority had agreed to believe in.

Aesthetics settled, Mulder dressed for his run -- an   
activity which involved nothing more complex than throwing   
sneakers over his socks and adding two more shirts --   
kicked the morning paper into the house, and set off. 

He had to resist the urge to keep his eyes shut for the   
first few steps. It seemed almost *fated* that his hall   
would have disappeared for the forests of his dreams, and   
it was too early in the morning to face that sort of thing   
head on. 

Luckily, there was no one in the hall but the eleven year   
old from upstairs, patiently replacing today's newspapers  
for Apartment 47 with those of the week before. It had   
been going on for months, and, considering the often   
altered states of 47's residents, it could very well go on   
forever.

"How long is forever, kid?"

"Fuck you."

Mulder nodded and took the stairs down, idly considering   
how "fuck you," might be tweaked to a properly zen-like   
answer. It was the sort of thing that made the morning   
stretches easy and fast.

In the lobby he greedily took several deep breaths of the   
last warm air he planned on encountering for at least half   
an hour. A few more stretching exercises and then Mulder   
was out the door, eyes catching once on the newly installed   
tower of post boxes in the center of the lobby. Flash of   
mellowed brass at the corner of his eye and then the street   
was his. 

As tends to happen, the snowplow had since moved on to   
invade the dreams of other hapless Alexandria residents,   
leaving Mulder in that thick mockery of encroaching dawn. 

To his left, the ice-rocky piles of the plow's passage,   
crumbling remnants of walls never built. To his right there   
were doors opening. Too many doors. Neighbors deciding   
it was better to get ready early for work on a day like   
this, then. Mulder chose left, got on the cleared, salted   
street and took off.

The first pounding strides of feet to pavement were always   
jarring to him. The sound, the shocks -- they made running   
such a *committed* action. These first few moments were   
what woke him up in the morning, no matter what anyone   
said about rhythms and comfort level.

The jar is the alarm. The rest a simple lingering before   
preparing yourself for the day for real. The equivalent of   
wallowing in hazy images of Ian and the contents of the   
bottle on the cord around his throat and the way he'd taken   
you twice before letting you back out onto the dance   
floor....

And Mulder remembered those dances well. The motions   
were often silly and contrived, but under the lights,   
moving with the tide of young, attractive bodies ever   
closer to the mythical summoning.... Some destination to   
give the clubs reason to exist. 

In the end, though, he'd landed no place more mystical   
than the black-splashed wood of the bar, hand out for   
another pint. 

And memories like these, extended, nearly hallucinatory   
things, worked like nothing else to find Mulder his rhythm.   
His legs had grown youthful again, and the world flew past   
to either side of him. Snow-crumbles to the right, tall,   
straight complexes to the left... It gave a curious feeling   
of running along the edge of something major. A part of him   
was nearly positive that one false move either way would   
get him fried crispy by some hidden, booby-trapped   
borderline.

Mulder was willing to accept the theory that he ought to   
sleep more. He was also willing to accept the fact that the   
appearance of bleary-eyed commuters may have caused his   
mind to interpret "unsafe" in new and different ways.   
Mulder got back on the sidewalk, trying not to think about   
how all the frozen, wet, and cold would feel on his ass if   
he took a spill. 

But his legs were *singing* to him, a level of energy he'd   
come to think fanciful since he hadn't had it for so long.   
Mulder checked his watch -- plenty of time for this to be a   
10K morning. He smiled at the elderly, slightly hunched   
woman waiting for her dog to finish its business, and the   
one he received in return was of that shade of brilliance   
that curses you roundly for having smiled so rarely in the   
past.

The day was looking good, in all honesty, and the semi   
he was packing thanks to thoughts of Ian only added to   
the experience. A little discomfort, an ache to   
counterpoint the smooth, nearly oiled motion of his legs.

And all was well until a hand grabbed him by the back of   
the neck, yanked him into an alley, and slammed him --   
chest first, thankfully -- into a brick wall. 

Mulder had just enough time to remember he only had   
his throwaway before he was spun around again. 

Alex. Of course.

"What the fuck do you want, Krycek?"

The other man's expression was only a dreamy smile,   
distressing contrast to the twist and flex of restrained   
muscle Mulder could still feel along the side of his neck.

"Krycek -- Fuck. Just give me what you have and make   
yourself scarce again. Maybe pick up some smoke balls.   
They'd add some dazzle to your tired performances."

"You're sounding pretty worn yourself, Mulder. How are   
you sleeping these days?"

No smirk in the rough tone, but only the barest hint of   
something that could be considered concern. The man   
seemed... calm... and it was disturbing. Mulder wanted a   
reaction. 

Mulder wanted to take this somewhere warm... The only   
responsible thing. Show himself, once and for all, that   
the only thing beneath that leather was flesh, and the   
only thing beneath the flesh was the banal cavern of the   
putatively soulless. 

"What do you have for me, Krycek? Nothing? Good, let me  
go."

Mulder brought a hand up to pry Alex's own from his neck,   
and the contact was impossibly powerful. It *had* been a   
long time since they'd touched in any way. The last had   
been that damned kiss, while this... this subtle brush of   
his own chilled fingers against Alex's was rapidly   
distracting him. 

"Hold on, hold on, I *do* have something for you. Left   
inside pocket of the jacket. Thin manila packet. If you   
touch anything else in there, you'll regret it."

"Why the change in our spy games, Krycek?"

A genuine smile, if a brief one. "I felt like it today."

Mulder desperately wanted to be able to read anything in   
that cheer resembling mockery. If Alex would only say   
"didn't you *want* to see me more this way...?" Well, if   
he'd say that Mulder could do anything at all...

Mulder reached in and retrieved the envelope, fingers   
skittering close to the holster more by instinct than   
design. And then Alex's hand was off his throat, pushing   
him hard against the wall for a brief knock, and grabbing   
his wrist. Still under the jacket.

Warm there, solid heat. Mulder looked up just in time to   
see the anger drift to something... sweeter. 

//Ask me to touch you....//

"Mulder.... Look up."

Mulder's trapped hand clenched into a fist as he held the   
other man's stare, but Alex didn't let go. Just nodded   
smilingly toward the sky in a way that made Mulder want   
to check for large, cartoon-style X'es beneath his feet. He   
resisted the urge, though, and looked up.

It was snowing again. Lightly now. It would barely leave a   
dusting. Mulder shook his head and started to look back   
down. "What is this, Kry--'

But that was as far as he got. Alex was blinking a tiny   
snowflake out of his eyelashes, and, when he was done, he   
caught Mulder's eyes again and held them with his own.  
Bright eyes, speaking of a mood that must have been   
nearly preternatural in its chipperness. 

It would've been enough to drag the encounter firmly back  
into the surreal, but the snow in Alex's hair was bright   
dust in dark spikes, melting too slow. Alex was being   
graced with the most transient of gifts -- soft winter   
aging, and it only made him more beautiful. 

It didn't take long for Alex to follow the run of his   
thoughts, and the hand around Mulder's wrist loosened.

"Do you want to kiss me, Mulder?"

He found himself nodding and moving closer, nape and   
spine tingling, muscles in constant twitch beneath the   
surface. Mulder was waiting for something -- a harsh   
laugh, a gunshot, his own sanity -- to take this away from   
him. It had to. 

Instead, there was nothing stopping his progress but Alex's   
own mouth. Surprisingly soft, but his lips were cool.   
They'd been outside too long. And that was the last   
coherent thought for the moment as Alex opened his mouth   
beneath Mulder's and let him in.

Mulder was hungry for this kiss and it was given, Alex's   
mouth was his, a new home for his tongue, warm and wet   
and the taste was nothing like he'd imagined, but still   
wonderful. Acid with the other man's apprehension. And his  
tongue was a careful predator, easing its way around   
Mulder's own, breaking the kiss so Alex could lick a flat   
line over one lip, then the other. 

And then Alex pulled back to look at Mulder, and the color   
had risen high in his cheeks. And Mulder realized that, at   
some point, he'd wrapped both arms around the other   
man.... He didn't want to let go. 

If he was tethered to Alex, then it was a connection he   
wanted badly, and he wanted to drag the man miles behind   
him. Or at least to his apartment. Because Alex was no   
statue, living flesh under his hands and he still wasn't   
letting go. 

Finally, Alex moved closer again, burying his face in   
Mulder's throat in a manner that birthed awareness. All of   
Mulder wanted to feel all of Alex, but he settled for   
curving his hand against the back of Alex's head and   
pulling him in tighter.

Making him moan against Mulder's quickly warming skin.

Alex's hand was steady at Mulder's waist, squeezing   
whenever his laps and suckling made Mulder cry out. 

Mulder let his head fall back against the wall, easing the   
lower half of his body a little closer to the heat he knew   
was waiting for him. The sky was crowded, blanked out with   
the storm clouds of a snow.

It was falling still, and Mulder wondered if Alex would   
make love to him here, in sight of nothing but their own   
chill grey shroud of morning.

But Alex was pulling off again, leaning in to kiss him   
once, just long enough for Mulder to realize how cold his   
own lips had become, before easing to a safe distance.

Mulder let his hands fall to his sides, resisting the   
painful need to wrap his arms around himself in   
acknowledgment of and comfort for the other man's absence.

"What now?"

"You have to go to work."

"And you?"

"I have to wait for you to come home from work."

"And then what, Alex?"

Alex just looked at him for a long moment, serious and   
measuring. Testing. "I want... so much."

The raw need in the other man's voice made him shiver.   
"There's nothing in this envelope, is there?"

Alex snickered briefly. "Menu for a Chinese restaurant..."

"Well, that's *useful*, I guess..."

"... in Oklahoma."

Mulder paused. "You grabbed me just to make sure I saw   
the snowfall?"

Wide smile. "Gotta keep you in touch with the important   
things, Mulder."

He was missing things here, and Mulder wasn't sure  
whether he *really* wanted to know everything --

"I want to show you--" 

Alex cut himself off by diving back in to kiss him again,   
harsh and needful, sucking Mulder's tongue before pulling   
away again, breathless.

"I... I'll come back, Mulder. I promise." 

And with that, he walked down the alley and disappeared,   
leaving Mulder to pant against the wall and wonder where   
his latest train of thought had derailed to.

It didn't matter. 

Another few minutes to catch his breath and stretch again   
and Mulder returned to the pavement, easing back onto one   
of the shorter routes. Enjoying the ache Alex had left   
behind.

Begging himself silently to let it be just as good as it   
felt. 

The low ceiling of clouds made the world a prison, but it   
was dangerous in the best of all possible ways. And   
utterly irresistible.

~~~~  
End.  
~~~~


End file.
